


mindful care

by themayflynans



Series: here we have [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Arthritis, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Retirement, Romance, Slice of Life, St. Petersburg, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayflynans/pseuds/themayflynans
Summary: "Figure skaters are only competitive for a short time. This will probably be my last competitive figure skating season. I don’t know how long Victor will stick around, or how long my body will hold up. So please, God, give me Victor’s time, if only just for now."- Katsuki Yuuri's debilitatingly low self-esteem, c. 2016, in anticipation of the exact opposite scenario to what actually happened to him IRL and what's happening in this fic.





	mindful care

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 2 of [domesticvictuuriweek](http://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com) for the prompt "Care", although I guess it also partially fulfills the alternative prompt "Cooking" if you squint.
> 
> Once again, my immense gratitude to the totally rad [Kitsunebi_UK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsunebi_UK/pseuds/Kitsunebi_UK), of whose efficient beta prowess I am in awe only slightly less than her masterful writing.

Yuuri strode into the living room holding a glass of water and small white pill in one hand, and brandishing a shiny silver tube of Voltaren in the other. Victor sat stiffly, back resting on the arm of the sofa as he rubbed at his hip. His features lit up when he saw Yuuri heading his way.

Yuuri knelt on the floor by his legs and proffered the pill and water to his husband. “Bottoms up, Vitya.”

He dutifully swallowed the Naproxen and water and returned the empty glass to Yuuri with a smile. “You didn’t have to do that, _zolotse_ ; I was just about to get up and do it myself.”

Yuuri gave Victor a pointed look as he set the glass down on the floor. “Can’t a man take care of his husband?”

Victor leaned forward to drop a quick peck on Yuuri’s pursed lips. “You’re right. Please proceed.” He sat back, tilting his head against the cushions and slinging one arm over the back of the couch. Yuuri took a moment to admire Victor’s languorous sprawl, looking all the world like he was about to go down for a nap now that he was in Yuuri’s capable hands.

On average, over the course of their years together, scenarios like this—Victor this relaxed, this vulnerable, this open to Yuuri taking care of him—were relatively rare, but rapidly becoming less so.

At first, in the very early days, it had been because of Victor’s reluctance to open up and depend on someone else to look after him. Yuuri had been the same—they had both been so independent and so _stubborn_ —but Victor had been so adamant about doing things for Yuuri that he had pulled Victor aside one day and told him in no uncertain terms that if _he_ was was going to be on the receiving end of massages and foot rubs and hair combings, Victor would _also_ have to stay put to be moisturized and joint-rubbed and pimple-popped (Yuuri himself could not have explained why the prospect of popping Victor’s pimples had delighted him that much, other than the fact that Victor had pimples).

As time wore on, after the move to Saint Petersburg and the wedding, this mindful care had blossomed slowly but surely between them, when it could be fit in during evenings after practice or on their days off.

Victor had gracefully bowed out from competitive figure skating at the well-rounded age of 30, and continued kissing Yuuri’s gold medals all the way until earlier this year, when Yuuri himself had pushed his competitive career firmly past his 29th birthday and emerged on the other side with his second Olympic gold in Beijing.

It had been wonderfully fitting for them to share another internationally televised kiss on the ice in the same city where they’d shared their first, without the tackling (which had, they’d both eventually admitted, hurt the first time around, too). After all, they were old farts now, as Olympic silver medallist Yuri Plisetsky took pains to mention every day at practice.

Now, they had a generous amount of time to themselves and to each other outside of coaching and choreographing. Victor woke up stiff every morning, careworn joints aching on cold Russian days, and this had become a routine, just as their relentless runs and brutal quads had once been.

Yuuri pressed gingerly at the joint of Victor’s right hip with the pad of his thumb to get a feel for where the pain was radiating from. He did not miss the slight jerk of Victor’s hip and the pinch of his features when he reached the middle, and carefully squeezed the cold translucent gel out of the tube. Rubbing it in slowly, he felt the bump of the swollen joint rolling under his thumb.

Once it dried, he shifted his position on the floor and did the same for Victor’s left hip. When he was finished he screwed the cap back on and brought his hand up to stroke Victor’s cheek. “Anywhere else?”

Victor’s eyes remained closed as he smiled a small, secret smile, miles away from his saucy wink-and-grin of yore. “Nope, not for now. I feel as good as new. Come up here and cuddle with me, _moya lyubov_.”

Yuuri knew just how to clamber up on their sofa without accidentally hitting one of Victor’s troublesome joints. He settled between Victor’s legs and rested his head on his ever-so-slightly softer chest, as Victor’s right hand moved to settle on his lower back, just above the rise of his bottom.

At 33, Victor was a young man yet and remained broad and strong, hard muscle still faithfully adorning his frame. But his workouts were not even half as strenuous as they had once been, due in part to his arthritis, but mostly just because neither of them needed to train as hard to compete anymore. He also had a terrible sweet tooth and a penchant to cook up Okaa-san's katsudon for himself and her son twice a week. Although he made a spectacle of pretending to care about his own softening body far more than he actually did, he made no secret out of how much he loved the bit of extra fat on Yuuri’s.

Yuuri was content to lie in this comfortable silence forever, and as his husband’s hand scratched lazily over his scalp, he felt himself slowly drifting off for an afternoon nap.

“Yuuri?”

He cracked open one eye and looked up into the unbelievable blue. “Hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about moving to Hasetsu for good, now that we’ve both retired.”

He grinned, feeling a combination of warmth and slightly shaky anticipation spreading in his chest. “That sounds really good. I’ve been thinking the same, but didn’t want to be the one to bring it up—I know Saint Petersburg is your home, and it’s become mine, too. Well—not to sound corny, but anywhere would feel like home with you.”

“I feel the same, my Yuuri. Hasetsu has felt like home to me since the first year I lived there, and every year when we go back it still feels like going home. Our family is there, and our life outside of figure skating is there, too.”

“And the Onsen.”

“And the Onsen. Imagine spending every day for the rest of our lives in that Onsen, and eating Okaa-san’s katsudon. Okaa-san’s katsudon _in the Onsen_.” He looked starry-eyed for a moment, but Yuuri didn’t need to tell him that eating was strictly forbidden in the hot spring. “But on top of all of that, the Onsen and the weather would also be really good for my arthritis. I have to be honest with you, though—I was ready to settle down with you in Hasetsu from the start. As I said, it’s felt like home since the summer of ‘16-nine.”

“That’s awful, Vitya.”

“Sixty-nining is expressly _not_ awful, _zolotse_. Anyway, since it won’t stop being cold here anytime soon, I’m ready to move ASAP. Also, since it’s the off-season, I figure we have a lot of time to prepare ourselves for the most difficult part.” He cocked an eyebrow and shot a meaningful glance down at Yuuri.

“Ah,” Yuuri responded. “Yurio’s going to kill us.”

**Author's Note:**

> It should be said that I know nothing about the specifics of where and when osteoarthritis affects figure skaters' joints except that it hits their hips and knees the worst. Nor do I know anything about hip joints. 
> 
> You could, I don't know, leave me a comment chewing me out for not properly doing my research? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (Or just leave a comment because I'm. So thirsty.)
> 
> Also, thanks to seventhstar's wonderfully kinky domestic fic [patellofemoral pain syndrome](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11355348/chapters/25415652), without which I would have never realized that arthritis is actually A Thing with figure skaters because I knew literally zilch about figure skating before I watched YOI.
> 
> Come yell with/at me on [Tumblr](http://themayflynans.tumblr.com).


End file.
